


Glasses Ficlet

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:23:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel keeps bumping into things in the bunker and Dean decides it's time he buys Cas some glasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glasses Ficlet

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a request I got and ran with. It's kind of cheesy but I hope you like it.

“Oof!” Cas grunts as he bumps into the coffee table for the third time in a row today. Dean looks over his shoulder and sees Cas rubbing at his leg and squinting at the floor with an angry frown.

He’s been telling Cas for weeks that he should go see an optometrist. Dean would rather pay the money for a doctor’s visit than have Cas trip down the stairs one day because he couldn’t see where the hell he was going. And it’s not even getting better, as Cas often claims it is; Dean has seen him miss the handle of their refrigerator in the bunker.

Unfortunately, it appears Cas is going to make the same argument today, as he turns to Dean (well, in the general direction of Dean) and glares. “I don’t need glasses, Dean.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Dean mutters back, though in his head he is scheming different ways to get Cas in the Impala and straight to Lawrence Regional without his being aware. “But... you should get it checked out. Now that you don’t have that whole angelic soul-sight or anything.”

Cas just harrumphs and folds his arms as he feels around for the cushion of the couch. Eventually, he flops down and stares off into empty space like he does so often. Dean sighs and shoves himself out of his spot on the leather chair he’d stolen for Sam.

“I’m going to go check up on Sammy. I’ll be back later,” Dean lies. He grabs his keys out of the little bowl on the coffee table and makes his exit.

“Don’t be too late,” Cas says, his voice pensive with an undertone of worry. Cas worries a lot now that he’s human; he’s almost always concerned whenever Dean leaves the bunker for a hunt or even for a raid. It would be endearing if it didn’t terrify Dean as much as it does.

He walks out into the autumn air; for once it’s not incredibly chilly. The Impala is exactly where he left it, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight like a piece of obsidian left out to shine. He climbs in and heads downtown to the old pharmacy near town center.

The old lady manning the front desk smiles at him as he pushes open the glass door to the quaint little shop. He grins back, hoping that she’ll give him what he needs without too much difficulty.

“How may I help you, hon?” She asks, her southern accent especially evidenced by her high pitched voice. She sets down the magazine that as in her hands and gives him her undivided attention.

“I need some glasses for a friend of mine,” Dean replies, keeping his tone light. He doesn’t like associating with old people; they either hate him or hit on him. It’s strange, and more than a little disturbing, to say the least.

“Sure,” She answers. “How bad is their sight?”

“Uh, he walks into coffee tables and stares at walls thinking they're televisions.” Dean settles himself in front of the petite old woman. She nods at him and swivels in a half circle to the assortment of items behind her. Dean peeks around her small frame and spots a small selection of glasses.

She prods through them, scanning and humming in displeasure when she can’t find the right pair. After a few moments, however, she chants ‘aha!’ and turns back to Dean with a pair of simple, dark brown framed glasses. They look like something out of the forties, but Dean thinks there is something inherently Cas-like about them. The frames are big enough to rival the old guy's from ‘Up’ and they’re dorky enough to convince just about every stranger that Cas is some closet librarian or insane scientist if he so desired.

“I think these’ll be a good fit for your buddy,” She mutters as she polishes the lenses with a flourish. She finishes within a minute and places them in a soft suede case. “Here you are.” She takes one of Dean’s hands and places the box atop his palm.

“Thanks. How much do I owe you?” Dean asks, pulling out his wallet. He looks back to the old woman to find her shaking her head hastily. “It’s no charge, sweetheart. You really love your friend; the least I could do is help you out.”

Dean blushes before he can really stop it. Yeah, he does love Cas, but he doesn’t _love_ Cas. That’s just... not possible. For either of them, really. He offers her a parting smile, a really awkward one, and stumbles out of the shop, managing to bump into a stand of postcards as he sprints out the door.

When he arrives back at the bunker, Dean sees that Cas hasn’t really moved. He _has_ picked up a book, but he doesn’t look to be reading it as he squints at the font like it’s in another language (even though Cas has explained repeatedly that he knows every language that has happened and ever will happen).

His head nods up at Dean’s arrival and he turns in the direction of the front door. “That was quick. Is he any better?” Cas asks, tilting his head in that adorable way he does.

“I, uh, didn’t go see Sam,” Dean mutters. “I got you a, um, gift or whatever.”

“A gift?” Cas perks up. His eyes are glimmering and his cheeks are slightly flushed as a puny grin forms on his lips. “You didn’t have to-”

“Yeah I did, Cas. You’re blind as a bat and keep spilling coffee on all of our shit.” Dean strides to where Cas is sitting on the couch and plops the little box onto his lap. “It really wasn’t a big deal, just so you know.”

Cas just stares at the case for a moment before opening it. He reaches in and plucks the vintage glasses from the satin bedding and arranges them upon his face. He blinks for a moment as he adjusts to the new clarity, his eyes shifting from left to right with an interest Dean hasn’t seen in the angel since... well, since he was still an angel.

“Whoa,” Cas breaths, scanning the bunker. Dean realizes this is Cas’s first time truly seeing the large room since he fell from grace. It’s got to be a lot to take in. When Cas’s eyes land on Dean, they visibly widen; all of that oceanic blue shimmering in infinite azure constellations as they observe Dean’s face. “Double whoa.”

“What?” Dean asks, curious if he has something on his face. He swipes a hand over his mouth, ensuring that he doesn’t have any crumbs or some other shit.

“You’re beautiful, Dean.” Cas murmurs. He brings his hands to Dean’s face and just holds them there. Dean knows that a pathetic blush is blooming on his cheeks, but he doesn’t even try to bring himself to stop it. Instead, he brings his own hands to Cas’s and leans towards the fallen angel.

“So are you, dude.” Dean grunts, just before pressing his lips against those of an extremely startled, albeit pleased, angel.


End file.
